“Oh, no, you don’t. I like it exactly the way it is.”
Betty smiled victoriously, but Truly cocked an eyebrow at her and whispered, “Men are such liars about things like that. He could hate it and he’d never tell you. Women always find out how they really think too late. But, if you don’t mind it — ”
Betty was wearing a split corduroy skirt, and as they were getting up from the table Truly glanced at it and remarked, “You know, Betty, I can’t understand why you don’t wear Levis. Riding skirts, after all, are made to show off a woman’s legs, and very few — ” She shrugged and smiled and left the rest unsaid as she walked away.
Betty glanced at Dean, aware of the fact that he had been listening and watching. She colored with embarrassment and her lower lip trembled for a moment. But she saw something sympathetic in Dean’s eyes and returned his light smile. She took Steve’s arm, her head held high, prepared again to enjoy their visit to the ranch. But then she saw Truly standing aside watching her and her smile faded and harassed lines appeared about the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her hand tightened its grip on Steve’s arm and he reached about absent-mindedly to give it a pat.
One of the Mexican helpers had a guitar and the other two joined him to sing soft Spanish songs. Some of the guests stretched out on the grass, others picked at the food left, and a larger contingent started rebuilding drinks. It was the hour of siesta and everyone relaxed.
Truly, however, was as tight as a coiled spring. She paced back and forth about the patio, her eyes never leaving Steve and Betty for long. At last she drew Dean aside from some men he was joking with and told him, “I’m going. Do you want to go with me, or would you rather stay?”
“What’s all the rush?”
“I — ah — I’m getting bored.”
“Do you always take off when you’re bored?”
“Always. Only fools willingly put up with boredom. But if you’d rather stay, I’m sure Steve will drop you at your house.”
Dean wavered for a moment, but realized that the crowd would start breaking up soon, anyway. Most of them would take off as soon as they had rested themselves from the heavy meal. There was really no point in staying.
“O.K.,” he said. “I’ll go along with you.”
He walked over to where the Davenports were sitting together on the grass. He thanked them for the enjoyable morning, but as he was talking he was wondering how he could get even with Clyde for chiseling in on the vacuum-pack deal with Metzner. He thought of a way it could be done and it was so perfect he burst out laughing and had to walk away in a hurry.
He had Truly drop him on the main street of Salinas, telling her that he had some sudden business to take care of, even on a Sunday. She, however, seemed to have plans of her own for the two of them. Her tension had lessened, and as she pulled into a parking space she said, “I’m in no hurry to get home. Suppose we drop into a bar for a tall, cool one and talk things over.”
Dean opened the door and turned toward her with a shake of his head. “Sorry. This can’t be put off.”
She was not to be put aside. “That’s all right. I’ll wait for you.”
“It could be a long wait, baby. You’d better run along.”
Truly’s back stiffened and her expression was at once arrogant, but also puzzled. “Maybe I was wrong, but I assumed we were spending the day together.”
“Yeah. I did, too, but I’ve changed my plans.”
“Do you make a practice of just brushing off your dates whenever you please?”
Dean scowled at her as he snapped, “Let’s get something straight. I’m not the average poodle dog you’re used to running around with. I’m not about to break my back lighting your cigarettes and opening doors for you. When I have something to do that’s important to me, then the gal I’m with doesn’t count.”
“Well, well,” she drawled. “The dominant male.”
“That’s right, honey. You don’t like that, do you?”
She leaned back to give him a cold stare, but had to smile instead. “Oddly enough,” she said, “I don’t mind at all. It’s refreshing.”
Dean looked suspicious. “You’re just yacking.”
“No,” she laughed. “I’m being honest. I take after my mother that way. She ran her home and her family and usually managed to get her way in most things, but there was never any doubt about my father’s being the dominant one. Mother would never have had it any other way. I inherited the trait from her.”
Dean was still suspicious. “When do I get the knife in my back?”
“You don’t. I’m serious. I wasn’t too young, you know, to miss my father’s fight to the top. I saw part of it and knew what was going on and enjoyed it. He was a dominant male, too, in all ways. He would never have been able to build what he did otherwise. All men who build big or do anything else big are like that.” She looked searchingly into his eyes and said slowly, “You’re like my father that way.”
Dean had to laugh. “This is the first time I’ve ever been compared with Tom Moore.”
Truly said pointedly, “I guess this is the first time I’ve ever run into anyone I could compare with him.” Then she smiled and said, “Run along. Maybe we’ll get together later.”
“Yeah. I’ll see what can be done.”
He walked away from her in a thoughtful mood. Truly had qualities, too, that were rather surprising. That she had found anything about him to like was in itself amazing, but that she had also seen fit to put it on record was almost unbelievable. Maybe, he thought, she wasn’t so spoiled as he had imagined. Truly could turn out to be a lot of woman.
But he put her out of his mind to concentrate.
It took hours of hard work to manage it, but by nightfall Dean had rounded up a gang of Mexican laborers willing to work for twice as much as they usually received. None of them could speak English, but Dean knew enough Spanish to make himself understood. Then he acquired two big trucks by the simple expedient of stealing them from behind the Moore loading sheds. The Mexicans thought he owned them. Two of the men could drive, so he got the whole gang aboard and headed them down the highway with a collection of crowbars, saws, hatchets, and other tools from his own sheds. Dean found a pair of old overalls in one of the trucks and pulled them over his colorful Western regalia.
Just below the southern edge of Salinas was the Bide-A-Wee Motel, a twenty-unit hostelry known far and wide as the Hot Sheet Club. Each room was rented on week ends as often as two or three times a night and the register was filled with the names of Smith, Brown, and Jones. It was also the well-known trysting spot of Clyde Davenport and his San Francisco imports on Friday nights.
One mile south of the motel was a large highway billboard thirty feet long and fifteen feet high, advertising the motel’s charms and rates. Dean had the trucks stop at the sign and pull off the highway. He put his gang to work and in an hour had the sign out of the ground, taken apart into two halves, and loaded onto the trucks. A highway patrol officer stopped to watch the work, curious as to why men would be working on a Sunday evening, but he figured that all Mexicans were loco, anyway, and drove on.
The trucks then took off through the night and drove from Salinas to Monterey and up the Carmel hill to the hill toll gate of Del Monte Properties. Dean was hiding among the men, but he had prompted the Mexican driver of the lead truck to say simply the magic name of Sam Morse, the original promoter and baron of Pebble Beach. The guard at the gate was suspicious about two truckloads of Mexicans going through to Pebble Beach, so he made the trucks wait while he called Sam Morse’s home. Dean was sure that his wild plan had died a miserable death, but it happened that Mr. Morse was not at home and the servants did not know where he could be located. The guard was in a quandary, but he reasoned that a gang of non-English-speaking Mexicans would have no reason for going to Pebble Beach unless they had been definitely ordered there to perform some useful purpose. He opened the larger truck gate beyond the toll house and waved the trucks through. D
ean sat down on the bed of the lead truck and had a laughing fit.
He directed the trucks down the hill and through the golf course and brought them to a stop before the mansion Clyde was having built for his retirement. It was on one of the main roads, an imposing structure of California redwood, chalk rock bases and walls, and thousands of square feet of plate glass overlooking a fairway of the golf course and the ocean beyond. The building was completed and partly furnished and most of the landscaping was already done. The neighboring homes were all large estates, conservative, sedate, with an overlying patina of background and wealth. Clyde had chosen his location well, directly in the middle of the more prominent citizens of Pebble Beach, the moneyed aristocracy of northern California.
Dean jumped down to the ground and surveyed the terrain. He found a knoll at the edge of the property that could be seen from the road, the fairway below, and the Seventeen Mile Drive beyond. He called his laborers together and explained what was to be done. Occasional passing cars slowed down and their drivers peered out into the night, wondering what was going on, but when they saw the Mexicans they all drove on without stopping. The sign was in place just before midnight and Dean paid off his gang. He shook hands all around and told the men to leave the trucks on the Moore property. He stood back and watched the taillights disappear up the road.
Then he walked up the road a bit and looked back at the huge sign, which he could make out dimly in the dark. It read:
Stop at
BIDE-A-WEE MOTEL
cheap rates
quiet surroundings
cozy
Dean chuckled and walked up the road through the dark toward his own home. Now he was even with Clyde. It was worth the chiseling 10-per-cent interest in the Metzner deal. Maybe, he laughed, it was worth even more. Clyde would certainly never live this one down.
Chapter Eight
DEAN HEARD OF IT at breakfast from Teddy Mitsui. He had checked the morning’s reading on the teletype in the library and had just seated himself at the breakfast table when the houseboy came in from the kitchen and paused to look at him curiously. Dean knew what was on his mind before he said anything.
He spread a linen napkin over his lap and asked, “Something up?”
Teddy nodded. “Yes, sir. You know the home Mr. Davenport is building, of course?”
“What about it?”
“Well, sir, it seems that some prankster erected a sign on the property sometime during the night.”
Dean swallowed to stifle a laugh and bit into a piece of toast. “What kind of sign?”
“It was taken from the highway below Salinas, a billboard belonging to the Bide-A-Wee Motel. A whole horde of sightseers is down there looking it over.” He paused, but a smile broke through as he asked, “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you, Mr. Holt?”
Dean’s eyes opened wide. “What a thing to ask!”
“Yes, sir. That’s what I thought. The police were by a little while ago, trying to find out who had hired the gang of Mexicans that put up the sign.”
“What did you tell them?”
“First, I asked them what time the sign was set up. They said somewhere between ten o’clock and midnight. So I explained that you couldn’t possibly know anything about it, as you had gone to bed early, around nine o’clock. I trust I gave them the correct information.”
Dean’s grin broke into the open and he asked Teddy, “How much money do you have in the bank?”
“About twenty-eight hundred dollars, sir.”
“How come? I thought you were having a bad time.”
Teddy returned his grin, though on a smaller scale. “Well, sir, I listen to you and watch your teletype and I’ve made a few speculations in lettuce. I hope you don’t mind.”
Dean laughed and shook his head. “You’re O.K., Teddy. All right, now you make out a check to me for your whole account and I’ll put it on some cars going out today. You should pick up an extra grand or so.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
“Nine o’clock, eh? I’ll have to remember that.”
Dean hurried through his meal and got out of the house as quickly as possible. He drove down the road and brought his car to a stop before the Davenport house. Below him the road was jammed with cars parked at every conceivable angle. People were swarming all over and staring at the big sign, all of them either smiling or laughing. Sweeney and Harding and Sam Parker were there. They were laughing so hard they had to lean back against a car for support. Two news photographers were standing farther up the road, where they could get good shots of the Bide-A-Wee sign with the imposing home in the background. Private Del Monte police were trying to break up the crowd, but without success. Del Monte executives were standing about looking slightly embarrassed, but they were also smiling.
Sam Parker spotted Dean and walked across the road to his car. “My God,” he said, “how do you like this?”
“Looks to me like it belongs there.”
“Jees, I can hardly wait to see Clyde’s face. All these years he’s been getting away with that two-whore deal every Friday night at the Bide-A-Wee, and now it’s planted smack in his own front yard. You know, Dean, the guy who thought of this stunt is a genius. When they find out who it is I am personally going to hang a medal on him.”
“I heard it was a gang of Mexicans.”
“Oh, sure, and they’ll never be found. You know how Mexicans can clam up. But someone hired them, that’s for sure.”
“How about the trucks?”
“One of the cops was telling me they’d been stolen from Moore’s place. Steve wasn’t back of it. Anyway, he and his wife were at Clyde’s ranch yesterday and didn’t get home until late at night. Nope. It has to be a guy with a weird sense of humor who doesn’t give a damn who he hurts, and who’s maybe getting even for something….” His words slid to a halt and he stared into Dean’s eyes. “You,” he whispered. “Why, you old — ”
Dean shook his head. “I was in bed at nine o’clock.”
Sam roared with laughter and reached in through the open window to shake Dean’s shoulder. “You’re a damned liar and I love you like a brother. To think of pulling a stunt like this on that phony — ”
“I’m telling you, Sam, I was in bed at nine. My houseboy can verify it, in court, if necessary.”
“You don’t convince me, you old son-of-a-bitch. This thing is just like you.” He turned to stare again at the sign and laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes. “Believe me, a stroke of genius.”
“Look, Sam, I was in bed at nine.”
“Yeah. Sure. You bet. Stick to it. But I still love you.”
Dean glanced at the Bide-A-Wee sign, chuckled softly, then spun the car about and went back up the road. It was even better than he had imagined it would be. It was worth at least 10 per cent.
He drove by the Davenports without seeing them. They were parked farther up the road, away from the crowd. They could not be seen by the people below, but they had a clear view of their home and the big sign on the knoll in front. Clyde’s big hands were clenched on the car wheel and the knuckles were white. His face, however, was beet-red and the heavy blue veins stood out prominently on his bulbous nose. In his tiny eyes, narrowed to bare slits, was a murderous rage.
Elsie Davenport was sitting stiffly at his side, her slim back ramrod straight, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, so tight that her thumbnails were biting into the flesh and drawing blood. She was not aware of it. Her bony face was chalk-white, and in her eyes was an expression of horror and fear.
She muttered over and over, “I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it.”
Clyde growled hoarsely, “Shut up.”
“I couldn’t believe it. I had to see it to believe it. Even now — ”
“I’m telling you,” he roared, “shut your goddamned mouth.”
His words and his rage made no impression on her. She was beyond caring. “To think — ”
she said. “To think — Everyone always knew it, of course. I knew it, too. You weren’t fooling anyone. I’ve known about it for years. But I just shut my mind to it. I thought maybe, in time, with age — And now this. Here it is for all the world to look at. It’s you standing out there on that knoll, naked, and your whores there with you. Naked. You hear?”
Clyde lifted a heavy arm and slapped her across the face with the back of his hand. Her lower lip was split and drops of blood oozed to the surface. She brushed the blood away.
“Naked,” she repeated. “My God. All the world to look at you and know what you are and talk about you. I wish I could die right here. How will I ever face anyone again? My own husband.”
“Why don’t you shut up?”
“I can’t. I’m afraid if I stop talking I’ll die. I feel all dead inside, anyway. Maybe this is the way a person does die, inside and then out. And if I close my eyes I still see that sign. I’ll be seeing that sign the rest of my life.”
“Honest to God, Elsie, if you don’t shut up I’m gonna brain you.” He glowered down at the crowd and said, “See those photographers down there? They must be from the newspapers. I’d better stop them.”
“Don’t you dare go down there.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I can’t go down there. Jee-zuss! What in God’s name can I do about this thing?”
“One thing, you have to get rid of the house.”
He gave her the stricken look of a wounded animal. “Oh, no!”
She looked at him as if he had lost his senses. “But of course you have to get rid of the house. Sell it. You can’t move into it now. My Lord, you certainly wouldn’t think of moving in there now, would you?”
“It’ll blow over. People will forget.”
“No one will ever forget this.”
“But, Elsie, this — this house is the big thing in my life. I’ve planned it for years, worked on it, dreamed about it….” His words faded into silence and he stared at the sign and knew she was right. Even if others forgot, which was not likely, he knew that he would not forget. He would never be able to walk through that front door without seeing the sign and hearing the laughter of the people on the road. The house was ruined. It was no longer his. It now belonged to the public — the symbol of a monstrous joke.
Hunger and the Hate Page 15
